In Praise Of Being In The Middle
If I were to die right here on this very spot where I’m lying down(for whatever morbidly laughable reason), I wonder what people would describe me as, that is when I was still alive.
I often think of this melancholic scenario, in many ways. From my parents, to friends, to the type of food they would serve at my funeral (seriously hope it’s meatless- how ironic to serve steak at a vegetarian's funeral). Heck, I even think about the types of ways my family would try to explain my odd death.
But this post isn’t about my fantasy funeral- it’s about what I would say at my life, standing from a distance. Of course, I could do that without envisioning my abrupt death, but there is something about the finite image of my life that makes my realize that I’m right in the middle.
In the middle of what, you ask? Well, the middle of life.
I’m not the best at everything I do, or try to do. No matter how much my peers/parents/teachers say that I’m a genius in my own special way, or that I can achieve anything I want, if I work hard enough- I’ll never be the best. Nor the worst.
I won’t get the best grade, or be good enough for that boy, or run the fastest down a track. It’s the cold, hard truth. Now, I could live in denial and convince myself that if I just study harder, be better, run faster, I’ll be truly happy with who I am as a person. I could promise myself that I’d be living the dream I’ve always been dreaming about.
Or, I could get on with being a ‘middle’ person and be content with that. Because (this may not be the most applicable to all) everyone, secretly, is a middle person. Yeah, unless you’re Mr. Bolt or Einstein, sorry to say. Deep down, everyone is slowly accepting that they’re forever in the middle and, hey, maybe that isn’t so bad.
We’re all trying to be THE best when we can’t realise that being in the middle enables the beauty of being YOUR best.
I keep telling myself this-yes, I still catch myself at points of quietness- that I’ll never be the smartest, but am I my smartest? Compare yourself to yourself, not Cara Delevingne or that insanely clever kid in your biology class.
So back to my imaginary funeral. I’d genuinely be disappointed in the person whom was to speak before my grave and continue to describe as “the most caring” or “the best person I knew”, whilst my weeping peers then proceed to nod dearly and remember in a loving memory only the ‘best’ of who I was.
No. I want to be remembered for the truth, not the animated perceptions people have of me. Therefore, I first accept that I’m not the best so I stop acting like I am. Then, I live like the ‘middle person’, comparing myself to myself.
I’d strive to be the deceased body where people are able to remember as my best, not the best.